Marty’s (Bar, Andersonville)

I have spent plenty of time attacking the eateries, antique shopping and coffee shops of Edgewater and Andersonville, but the bars have eluded me. I realized this with a pang of guilt, but then drinking is a fickle animal and traveling more then 10 L stops for a booze cruise isn’t always practical. So I accepted my assigned bar on random, finding the name Marty’s to be fairly unassuming. Believe me, Marty assumes.

Marty assumes your a cocktail person. He’s called a wine bar but all I see are cocktails. ‘Up’ cocktails that is; powerful and mostly sweet. Marty assumes you’re a couple or you’re gay. This is Andersonville after all, it’s a fair assumption. Marty assumes you’re patient. The bar tender was also our waiter and he doesn’t rush his drinks, shaking one at a time. All told, Marty assumes you’re not on a bar crawl because his drinks are not meant for swift consumption. My Dirty Bird is all I could ask for from a dirty martini including blue cheese stuffed olives and his own custom vodka. The vibe is fancy comfortable and it lulls us into the danger zone as Jackie’s chocolate martini forces her eyes back into her head.

About David Frankel McLean

I’ve been thinking philosophically about Chicago since I was jaywalking the streets at the age of 10. I don’t root for both baseball teams and I don’t put Ketchup on my hot dogs. When someone says they’re a Chicagoan they are speaking of a heritage and a doctrine, not just a location. What that doctrine is I’m not entirely sure, it’s constantly changing with the growth of the city and I’ll spend my entire life trying to figure it out.

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